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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29493609">In Flagrante</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorMarunt/pseuds/DorMarunt'>DorMarunt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Breaking and Entering, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Tension, shameless flirting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 13:27:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29493609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorMarunt/pseuds/DorMarunt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows what it means even before he looks at the screen, but it still sets him on edge to see it. Someone was breaking into his apartment. They were there right now, by the looks of it - alarms were being triggered in every room, one by one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In Flagrante</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andres barely has enough time to greet his lovely date, two light kisses brushing the air around her cheekbones when his phone chimes. The woman smiles a soft encouragement to check his phone, and Andrés does. It’s something he wouldn’t dream of doing under normal circumstances, but that was the one chime that he could not ignore.</p><p>He knows what it means even before he looks at the screen, but it still sets him on edge to see it. Someone was breaking into his apartment. They were there right now, by the looks of it - alarms were being triggered in every room, one by one.</p><p>At least his excuse to ask for a last minute rain-check is sincere, and Carla can see it on his face and hear it in his voice. If Andrés is lucky, she will pick up when he next calls. </p><p>If Andrés is <em>really</em> lucky though, the robber is still at his place.</p><p> </p><p>The cab speeds along the narrow streets - the driver got less of a sincere reason for the rush, but it got him driving quickly enough to verge on the reckless, which is all that Andrés wanted. When they stop just a few buildings down, Andrés leaves the man a generous tip and formulates a strategy. Further alarms have been triggered - almost all of them - but it was a safe bet that the burglar was in Andrés’ study. That’s where the real treasure was kept, and if the guy was any good at what he was doing - which, if he got in to begin with, he surely had to be - he’d know not to focus on the art or on trying to crack the safe. Not just that he couldn’t crack it, there was nothing inside. </p><p>So - his study. This leaves the fire escape leading in from the adjacent bedroom, which means he’d have to jimmy the window open, something he can’t exactly do silently, or— the front door. He’d have to go through the entire house to get to the study, risking running into the robber or making himself heard, but it was by far the better option. </p><p>The front door is unlocked, and Andrés slips in quietly. It’s dark, but he’s good, and he’s on familiar grounds too. Grounds that he’s hidden several guns in, the closest one being right in the hallway, behind the coat rack. Paranoia <em>can</em> be a good thing. </p><p>There’s some shuffling coming from the end of the hall - his study; his instincts were correct. And when he gets close enough to take a peek inside, he can see a moving beam of light and a silhouette behind it. How<em> quaint</em>. The man is knelt over the boxes, holding the small flashlight between his teeth to better flip through the files, and he’s making a small, separate pile to the side.</p><p>As charming as it was, Andrés is in no mood to let this drag on any longer than it already has. Who knows, if he resolves the matter quickly enough, he might be able to go back to Carla - all the more reason for him to curl his fingers around the handle of the gun in his pocket. </p><p>He takes a small breath, stretching the tension right out of his neck muscles, takes a couple of silent steps, raises his hand and flips the light switch.</p><p>The guy takes the typical deer-in-the-headlights stance when light floods in, with one hand out in front of his shock-widened eyes. Still, Andrés feels like he's the one who's more surprised, and he finds himself taking a deep breath because— he knows the man.</p><p>Andrés doesn’t even have to think of when he’s meet him; he sticks out enough that it all comes crashing in. The Gala. <em>Martín</em>. With the suit that was obviously rented, and the attitude that let Andrés with a couple of questions that he’s never asked himself until then.</p><p>Absolutely not the right moment to go there, though. He composes himself within a single breath, enough to sound casual.</p><p>“You’re not supposed to be here.”</p><p>Martín’s hands don’t raise like it would be expected in the situation - there was a gun pointed at him, for god’s sake - but he does move to take the flashlight from his mouth. </p><p>“Funny, that’s what I wanted to say.” He clicks the light off, shoving the small flashlight in his pocket. With a deep sigh, he settles further on his haunches, looking rather resigned. “So, uh. This is pretty much what it looks like.”</p><p>“I figured. Find anything interesting in there?” Andrés points at the boxes with his gun, and Martín shrugs.</p><p>“Yeah, a bunch of things, actually.”</p><p>For someone finding themselves at the wrong end of a loaded gun, the guy is way too relaxed.</p><p>“Why are you telling me this? Does it seem… wise?”</p><p>“What? You have eyes. And, judging from what I saw, you seem like a pretty smart guy. No use in lying to anyone.”</p><p>The man must be mad. Admitting to the man with the gun that he'd read really incriminating documents was not the move of a smart man - or anyone without a deathwish. But there he was, so calm, with the hint of a smug smile even, knelt among open boxes and his messy pile of files.</p><p>“Well, I believe this leaves us at an impasse, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Only if you think I’m unarmed.”</p><p>Andrés blinks a couple of times. That was a strategy he hadn’t thought of - mostly because it made no sense. </p><p>“And? Are you?”</p><p>“Why don’t you come and find out for yourself.”</p><p>
  <em>What. The hell. </em>
</p><p>“Get up on your knees. Hands on your head. Don’t move.”</p><p>Andrés takes one cautious step, aiming for center mass all the while the man arranges himself as instructed.</p><p>“You know, had I known you’d be like this, I’d have dressed way sluttier.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>Martín laughs, acting like he continued to be unaware of the deadly weapon aimed at him, all the while being caught red-handed breaking in. </p><p>“My main concern when doing this type of thing is to dress functional and… in a dark palette, basically. But something more figure-hugging, especially in the upper area, definitely wouldn’t have hurt this time. This shirt is really doing me no favors, and I’ve started working out, so—” </p><p>“Are you high?”</p><p>“Like I’d be doing anything like this with a less than crystal clear head.”</p><p>“This is you with a crystal clear head?” Andrés is right by him now, gun trained at his temples - close enough that he’d have no more illusions that it wasn’t real. </p><p>“Mhm,” he hums, then straightens his back, inching his knees a little wider. “Please frisk me, sir. Pay extra attention to my pockets, I was told I carry quite the weapon.”</p><p>He’s shot men for less, Andrés realizes a second before he stops himself from squeezing that trigger. But a gunshot would have been too noisy, too messy. Still, that doesn’t mean he won’t slice through whatever artery is closest as soon as he deems it necessary.</p><p>Weird thing was, he doesn’t seem to find it necessary. </p><p>He pokes the gun in the man’s back, then starts patting him down - no weapons, but some really firm muscles. Which Andrés could tell because Martín was definitely flexing when under Andrés’ grasp. Fortunately, he keeps quiet when Andrés pats his pants pockets, retrieving his flashlight.</p><p>“Martín, by the way,” the man says, and Andrés makes the decision to act like he doesn’t remember. </p><p>“Nice to meet you, Martín. Needless to say, don’t make yourself at home.”</p><p>“Hah, that was cute. But really? You don’t remember me?”</p><p>“Are you with the plumbers that came by last week?”</p><p>“Oh, how you hurt me, Mr. Fonollosa. Don’t play coy, I know you know me.”</p><p>“I genuinely don’t.”</p><p>“Mhmm,” he hums again. “Well, let me give you a refresher. The Gala. More specifically, the rooftop during that Gala.”</p><p>“You are the most tiresome robber I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”</p><p>“And you, Mr Fonollosa, are not who you say you are.”</p><p>“Rich, coming from you.”</p><p>“I did say I was into art acquisition. I didn’t say <em>how</em> I usually acquire the art.”</p><p>Andrés remembers that - one of the few topics they’ve touched on, briefly, but one that brought up instant red flags. Martín did not act like he was an art dealer - he did not dress like one, he did not look like one, and, most importantly, he did not speak like one. Sure, he knew his stuff and has obviously opened a book or two in his life, but when they got to the business side of things, Andrés realized that he was being swindled. Thing was, the guy was so— unashamedly flirty, that Andrés thought he was only trying to pick him up. </p><p>Which, judging by their latest interactions, probably wasn’t too far from the truth.</p><p>“So what were you doing at the Gala? I have a feeling you weren’t there looking for pieces for that museum that hired you; were you?"</p><p>“If I said that I was looking for you, would you believe me?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Well, okay. Not you, specifically. But someone like you. Some of these guys take me to their homes, and oh boy do they hesitate to go to the police when things go missing - you see, most of the time, their wives don’t know. Or their shareholders.”</p><p>“Blackmail? How petty and… pedestrian.”</p><p>“It gets the job done, so—”</p><p>“So— let me get this straight, you think you have… something over me? You think you can ‘out’ me? Who cares? Plus, I’m not gay.” </p><p>“Well then, I have bad news about your dick because it sure seemed interested in me, if I remember correctly. And <em>I do</em>. We<em> danced</em>.”</p><p>They did. They danced, on a rooftop, just the two of them and the sound carried from the open terrace below. Andrés went up there to think and, frankly, to avoid someone that seemed perpetually on the verge of leaving but never quite seemed to do it. So he was up there to buy himself some time, maybe to smoke in peace, without inviting unnecessary conversation. Except he wasn’t the first to have gotten that idea - when he pushed open the rooftop door, he saw Martín. Dancing. </p><p>He had a glass in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and was dancing by himself. He didn’t seem at all embarrassed, not even when he realized he was being watched. He continued to dance, throwing his head back and laughing before waving Andrés over, to join him.</p><p>So they danced. Martín set down his glass on the ledge, squished his cigarette underfoot, caught Andrés in his arms and he <em>lead</em> - even when the song faded out, and a slow dance began. It was curious enough that Andrés let himself be lead, something he usually didn’t do. </p><p>“That means nothing,” Andrés is quick to make it clear, but unwilling to expand on it.</p><p>“Listen, could I maybe sit in a chair or something? My knees are starting to hurt. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m used to being on my knees, but usually I’m kept occupied enough that I don’t notice the pain. The one in my knees, not the—”</p><p>“Will you just be quiet?”</p><p>“Make me.”</p><p>“I can gag you.”</p><p>“You have got to stop saying things like that, <em>ngh</em>,” Martín makes a sinful noise, then shifts impatiently. “Plus, if you gag me you won’t be able to hear what I have to say.”</p><p>“I have a gun.”</p><p>“Yes, I can see. You’ve been flashing that thing ever since you walked in. You know, I have this theory about guns as a phallic extension that I could—”</p><p>“Shut up. Get up - slowly - and get in that chair.” Andrés points to the chair in front of his desk.</p><p>Martín sighs, relieved, then gets up. His hands come down from around his head - he was either unaware that he was doing it, or he genuinely did not care about the weapon trained at him. So Andrés uncocks the gun and lowers it. Martín sits in the chair, arms folded in his lap.</p><p>“What do you have to say?”</p><p>Martín looks up at Andrés, with a cocky smile and too relaxed of an attitude for the context.</p><p>“I can help you.”</p><p>“You are in no position to help anyone. Least of all yourself, by the look of it.”</p><p>“I can help you with your… endeavor. Whatever you’re planning to do; I’ve looked through some of your papers. and you could use someone with my skills.”</p><p>“And what are those, exactly? Shameless flirting? Tripping up literally <em>all</em> of the alarms?”</p><p>“Oh. I was wondering how you’d gotten here so quickly; for a second I thought that Carla was a no-show."</p><p>“How do you—”</p><p>“I may have bugged your phone. Well, technically I installed a script that allowed me to intercept all your conversations. Same result, really.”</p><p>“I have computer guys that can do that remotely; what could you possibly bring to the table that I don’t already have?”</p><p>“The brains.” And then he waits for further questions, but since Andrés doesn’t seem to engage, he continues. “At least when it comes to physics. I’ve seen some of your calculations for what I can only assume is breaching the outer wall of a safe, and— you need my help.”</p><p>“I don’t need your help.”</p><p>“Well, you’re not getting into that safe either. At least not the way you plan to.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“Well, I’m not just going to tell you that, am I?”</p><p>“You seem to forget that I have the upper hand here.”</p><p>“Honestly, I couldn’t forget that if I tried, you’re still holding on to the gun like it’s going to disappear from your hand if you don’t squeeze hard enough.”</p><p>He was, but only because he was trying to calm himself enough not to shoot Martín.</p><p>“You know what, gagging you sounds like a better idea by the second.”</p><p>“You need me.”</p><p>“I do not need you. Even if you’re right - and I’m not saying you are - the guy that’s working with me knows what he’s doing. He would have caught this.”</p><p>“You’d think so, right? But everything else I’ve seen hinges on you getting in the safe in under forty seconds. You won’t, not with what you have right now.”</p><p>“Alright”. Andrés puts the gun in his coat pocket, although he wasn’t yet sure that he won’t kill the mouthy guy after all. “So you want to buy your freedom with a tip that I can’t verify? Even if you’re not lying, what stops you from going to the police as soon as you leave this place?”</p><p>“I can give you the name and address of my parents if that makes you feel like you have some sort of leverage over me. But, to be fair, they’ve disowned me long ago, I honestly don’t care what happens to them. No boyfriend either. Or girlfriend, but - you know.”</p><p>“You have the most peculiar way of negotiating. You’ve just told me that I have no leverage over you, what stops me from blowing your brains off right here and now?”</p><p>“You seem like a smart enough guy. I mean, if you wanted me dead, you’d have killed me already. You know I’m right. Also, I don’t want to ‘buy my freedom’ or whatever you said; I want to join you.”</p><p>“Join me?”</p><p>“Yeah. You and whoever your physics-challenged guy is; this is not a two-person job. Not if you don’t want to get caught.” </p><p>“I don’t know anything about you. Other than your audacity and recklessness. Not only do I not want anything like that of my team, but - and I can’t believe I have to remind you again - nothing stops me from putting some lead through your skull so spare me further headaches. Literally nothing.”</p><p>“I have the solution to make your plan work.”</p><p>“I’ll get a better engineer.”</p><p>“You won’t get one as good as me.”</p><p>“What are you, twenty-five? Twenty-six? My guy has more years of practical experience cracking safes than you have revolutions around the sun. I admire your coky attitude, but you’re starting off with the wrong premise; you seem to think that you have something to offer, but you have <em>nothing</em>. You have less than nothing. And you know what’s really tragic? Whether you’re really as clever as you claim to be or if you’re just the nobody that I think you are, if you die here tonight, <em>no one’s gonna miss you</em>.”</p><p>Martín looks at him, obviously hurt, if not shocked by Andrés’ verbal attack.</p><p>“Wow, you’re an asshole.”</p><p>“An asshole with fewer and fewer reasons to keep you alive.”</p><p>“You know why I was up on that rooftop?”</p><p>“So you wouldn’t have to submit anyone to that thing you call ‘dancing’?”</p><p>To this Martín throws his head back, laughing, much like he did back then, on that dimly lit rooftop.   </p><p>“I was up there to get pumped up enough to blend with those pretentious assholes downstairs. We’re in the same line of business, you and I. We want the same things, we just have— different approaches. Well,” Martín shifts back in his chair, opening his legs, <em>occupying space</em>, making himself visible. “I’ve seen you later with Carla, we don’t have <em>entirely</em> different approaches.”</p><p>“Please, if I were as rude as you are, I’d be blacklisted from all of these events.”</p><p>“Still, you took her home. Glad you put that erection to good use, though I sort of hoped <em>our</em> night would end differently.”</p><p>“See? <em>That</em>. If I did that, I’d get slapped and thrown out.” </p><p>“Well, you can slap me and throw me around a little, if you want to roleplay that or something.” He pushes his knees wider holding Andrés’ gaze with a beautiful smile.</p><p>“You’re barking up the wrong tree; as you may have noticed, men are not exactly my poison of choice.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Martín hummed, yet again. “<em>Bésame</em>,” he starts singing, audaciously and with an unfairly good voice. <em>“Bésame, bésame mucho, como si fuera esta noche, la última vez.</em>”</p><p>Up on that rooftop, Andrés recognized the song from the first note, but he was already in Martín’s arms, and they were already dancing, so— They danced. Slowly but in sync, with warm touches that got firmer, bodies pulled close, then pushed apart on a twirl, then got together again. At the end of one of those twirls that curled Andrés again in Martín’s arms, they kissed - not immediately, there were a lot of shaky breaths and fluttery heartbeats before their lips touched. They didn’t stop dancing which made the kiss all the more dizzying, and when they were finally done, Martín’s pupils were shot wide, his lips shiny and parted. The music had long stopped, being replaced by laughter and clapping. Andrés felt like he was still floating with their swaying, and it took him way too long to let go of Martín, to step back and to put some space between them.</p><p>He was breathing heavily, trying to figure out what just happened.</p><p>“Martín Berrote,” the guy said, then offered his hand.</p><p>He shook it, feeling still a little dazed. “Andrés de Fonollosa.”  </p><p>“I know the drinks downstairs are free, but so are the ones at my place - or yours, as you prefer.”</p><p>“Um,” Andrés was fairly used to straightforwardness, but he was usually on the other side of the conversation.</p><p>“You don’t have to make up your mind now. Give me your phone.” Martín offers his hand, expectant. “Gimme. So I can put my number in?”</p><p>Andrés does, although it takes him too long to find out where the damn contacts app was. </p><p>“Call me,” said Martín, then leaned back in for a kiss that Andrés started reciprocating too late. </p><p>And then he left.</p><p> </p><p>“You know there’s something here, between us. You feel it too.”</p><p>“That was <em>one</em> dance. And I had been drinking.”</p><p>“One dance, one boner, and a couple of kisses. Sounds like at least<em> a bit</em> your poison.”</p><p>He could fight it, but something inside Andrés told him that simply fighting it would only prove the opposite. </p><p>“Fine, so I won’t kill you because we kissed on a rooftop?”</p><p>“You’re oversimplifying, but— yes. And you’ll let me join your team since I bring something that you’re lacking. You need my brains, and I need your— reach. I’ve seen your plan, you’re aiming pretty high. We can help each other - needless to say, in <em>many</em> ways.” </p><p>“Why are you… like this?”</p><p>“Bold? Because I found out that if you don’t ask for something, you have no chances of getting it. So asking? It facilitates getting what you want. It’s that easy, can you believe it?”</p><p>“That’s what you think you’re doing? Asking?”</p><p>“Well, I think we already established that we’re into each other. You just seem to need a bit of heavy courtship in order to get over yourself and to give yourself what you really want.”</p><p>“And what is it that I really want?”</p><p>Martín smiles, shaking his head slightly. All things considered, he was quite something - fearless, bold, everything that Andrés would want on his team.</p><p>But in his bed?</p><p>“Me. I know you do. Even now, I know you’re thinking about it.”</p><p>“You’re way too confident. That was— one time. One time against a thousand.”</p><p>“And you’re willing to bet it would be just that one time? I’m a man of science, and the scientific method dictates repeating an experiment to check the consistency of results.”</p><p>“Well, I’m a man of art.”</p><p>“Do artists give up that easily once they find a new method, a new medium that allows them to express themselves? Or do they keep working, painting, or chipping away at that marble to see just else they can achieve?”</p><p>Andrés, despite his better instincts, was getting hard. Which— <em>no</em>. He clenched his thighs, trying to cut blood-flow, but was clearly not as discrete as he thought, since Martín laughed a burst of breathy laughter. </p><p>“Come on, admit it. If we hadn’t met again— in these circumstances, you’d have called me.”</p><p>“Just for that cockiness, you deserve to be left hanging.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s not so nice when you’re on the other side of this, is it?”</p><p>“Is this what it’s all about? Did I fuck your girl— your sister? What?”</p><p>“I honestly don’t care who you fuck. Well, correction - who <em>else</em> you fuck. And I don’t have a sister. It’s really all about you.”</p><p>“So you wanted to rob me, then expected me to call you? You think I'd fuck you after you stole from me?” </p><p>Martín nods, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.</p><p>“You’d have no reason to think it was me who broke in. So yeah, I’d steal from you and then you’d lay me in quite a spectacular fashion - if I may be bold enough to assume.”</p><p>“You have a very— twisted view of human relationships.”</p><p>“I know what I want,” Martín shrugs. “And I still want this.”</p><p>What Andrés wants is to think. </p><p>Right. He just caught a man going through his plans for their next heist, a man who claims has found an error in their calculations, and that he knows how to fix it. A man that Andrés knows, a man that he’s kissed.</p><p>A man who’s still flirting with him like he wasn’t just caught in flagrante. And who was somehow causing too much of Andrés’ blood to flow South for reasons that he wasn’t quite ready to address. </p><p>The easy way out is, just as he initially realized, to kill him. It’s not like he hasn’t done that before. He has people to help him clean up; he wouldn’t even need to feel guilty for doing it - he was just defending himself and his property. </p><p>But.</p><p>Martín was right - Andrés won’t kill him. </p><p>And yes, it’s probably because they kissed that night on that rooftop.</p><p>And then he went back to the party, met Carla, charmed her quickly enough to get her home before either of them has finished their first drink, and fucked her right against the door. And then in the bedroom, too. She left before sunrise, and Andrés was left alone to deal with the reality of his most confusing erections to date.</p><p>He knows he's just arguing now just because he's enjoying it - he actually is - but it's not like him to show his cards. </p><p>“I have no reason to trust you.”</p><p>“Well good, you shouldn’t; I’m a criminal. But so are you. So let's call it - professional courtesy? No one betrays anyone; honor among thieves and all that."</p><p>For some reason, the moment feels heavier than it should be. The breath he takes fights to fill his lungs and the air makes him feel light-headed for a second. Martín watches him like he knows exactly what Andrés is thinking at every second, with this cockiness that had to be based on something - it <em>had</em> to be, right? If not, he was the greatest swindler that Andrés has ever encountered and that alone already weighed more than anything. </p><p>Well, almost anything. </p><p>"If I say yes, will you stop your flirting?"</p><p>"Absolutely not. Is that a yes?"</p><p>"... yes."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><em>"Bésame mucho, como si fuera esta noche, la última vez"</em> *<br/>Cesária Évora sung it closest to my heart. &lt;3</p><p>*"Kiss me a lot, as if tonight were the last."</p></blockquote></div></div>
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